February 20, 2007

Ray Camden, Third Sales Associate for our Midwestern Branch, was honored this quarter with an “Employee of the Month” award. Thanks to Ray's tireless efforts out in the field, our company eked out several extra hundredths of a percent of the market share this year. With such a stellar accomplishment under his belt, Ray can look forward to a brief, unpaid vacation, an awards banquet at the local Sizzler's Restaurant, and management's expectation that he will succeed similarly in future months or be the first to go when layoffs roll around. I sat down with Ray in between sales calls to find out how this award has affected his life.

Madge, from Reception: So, Ray, how do you do it? Such great sales numbers! It must be a lot of hard work.

Ray Camden: Yes, Madge, it is. Tireless and ceaseless work. This company means the world to me, and I've spent dozens of long nights preparing sales pitches and consulting product manuals to make sure I'm as equipped as possible to bring our services to the customer.

M: You seem to be visibly shaking. Are you all right?

RC: I'm better than all right, Midge, I'm the best! No one in the history of the company has matched my sales numbers, and if I have to rely on an occasional energy drink and cocaine cocktail to keep those numbers up, well...I mean, it comes with the territory. Excuse me.

Ray spits up into a small trashcan under his desk.

RC: Sorry about that. All this selling, I...I've been up for forty hours, so, sometimes my stomach gets...

RC: It's funny you should ask, Mudge. See, last fall I spent so much time at the office that my wife divorced me. Took the kids out of state, the whole bit. I got kind of depressed for a bit, and I guess I ate a little more than usual. Anyway, before I knew it, I was developing type II diabetes and weighed over 300 pounds! The guys started calling me “Big Fat Ray,” or “Morbidly Obese Ray,” or “Poor Ray, that guy should get some help.” After I lipo'd the weight off, though, I just shortened it to “Big Ray.” Memories.

M: I'm so sorry.

Ray grins with one side of his face, and seems to grimace with the other.

RC: For what? The only thing big about me now are my sales numbers! I'm reminded of a bumbling young sales associate who used to work under me. I said to him, “Son, you're like a 7/11. You never close.” He either got laid off or died, I don't remember which. You see, Pancho, the trick is to sell yourself, not the product. The customer is buying me, Ray Camden. That's what I sell. Also, this.Ray holds up a baggie of cocaine.

RC: I've been subsidizing the money I bring in with regular sales with drug money. That way, the bosses won't know that my numbers have been drooping lately. It's just a temporary thing, you understand, until I get my groove back.

M: Mr. Camden, you're aware that this interview is for the company newsletter, right?

Ray begins shaking more violently, and excuses himself. He can be heard muttering “you promised me!” and “cool it man, everything's cool” from the next room.

RC: Just leave, for God's sake! And tell them...tell them I regret nothing!

Ever the salesman, Ray had to get on with closing his restroom deal. Hopefully, his dedication and support of the company can be an inspiration to us all. Ray also asked me to include the following message: “I know who you are. Stop following me. If you read this, meet me at the usual place after work.” Good luck in the coming year, “Big Ray!”

February 16, 2007

Call it a time-tested formula. Call it disarmingly topical. Call it a blatant rip off of the current CRACKED front page. I like to think of it as a companion piece. In the end, all I know is that these Presidential Playing Cards we ran in the most recent MQ issue need wider exposure. Voila.

BLOGSPOT NOTE: These looked nice and crisp on my old blog, but I guess they took a beating during the move. Sorry for the fuzziness. Click for a larger, near-legible image.

Much credit to my beloved MQ staff, whose work I am essentially stealing.

February 13, 2007

This isn't technically humor-related, but I find it hilarious. This is what my friends and I do with our Sundays. Note the tasteful use of blood, and the Pink Floyd t-shirt ad tie-in. And you people wonder how I make the big bucks.

February 12, 2007

Valentine's Day is nearly upon us; that magical time when a young man's idle fancies turn to thoughts of love, and his aggregate monies are frittered away on shiny trinkets he hopes to barter for sex. For many a scrub-faced youth, V-Day is a chance to prove one's manhood, to lose forever the stigma of approaching thirty with one's maidenhood and Snood High Score Record still intact. Like a vicious assault on childhood, teenagers all over America will proffer flowers, walk beaches, and tent pants. If they're lucky, the awkward, sweaty dance of Love will follow. But what to expect out of these first tender moments, these gropings towards adolescence, these mutual statutory rapes? Let us turn, as always, towards Internet pornography in hopes of sound and somber guidance.

Your Cock Will be Huge

Despite any previous worries about your size, the moment you are truly ready to get down and dirty, your penis will spring out of your shorts fully erect and proceed to balloon up like a frightened Blowfish. Veined and rippling, the mere shadow of your engorged member is likely to cause your nymphomaniacal date to chirrup lustily and fall immediately to her knees in worshipful praise. Careful: accidental clubbing is a serious risk.

She Will Gladly Accept You Into Any Orifice, And Orgasm Loudly Therefrom

Anal is only the beginning; it's all fair game. With a little dedication, you could soon be known as “The Ear, Nose and Throat Man.” And even if all logic dictates that she should be at least uncomfortable and at most screaming in horrendous pain, you can rest assured that this kitten will lap it up like so much milk. After all, as any doctor will tell you, ninety-eight percent of the surface area of a woman (internal and external) forms one large bundle of erogenous nerves known as the O-spot. That's why they get so upset when you try to rub up against them on the bus.

Two is Company, But Sixteen is a Party

This party has a two-girl minimum, and a Maximum Occupancy of ?. Balance them precariously on top of one another, then spin them and play hip-thrust darts. Scatter them about the room and drag your way from one to another on an absinthe-fueled trail of debauch and physical exhaustion. Have sex with them. The point is, more equals better. Unless of course we're talking dudes; then it's a whole different equation.

The Nude Midget Riding an Erect Horse Will Both Delight and Amuse

Variety is the spice of life, they say (again, unless we're talking dudes). A little horseplay may be just what the doctor ordered, especially after the women have tired of your oversized phallus and require a respite. The midget's just there to laugh at, and service the horse-woman coupling process. A quick word of advice: make sure your midget is a licensed Bestiality Engineer, preferably with a specialization in Coupling. Using an unlicensed midget isn't just illegal, but can result in a mass of manes, neighing, and giant fake breasts that will leave your bedroom essentially unusable.

Surely, Her Lesbian Friends Have Only Stepped Out Momentarily

Don't freak out. They're probably on their way back from the market with a big tub of cool whip, or hiding in the closet with pillows at the ready. Your demure date's audacious lesbian friends will be by shortly, and when they arrive, the making out will no doubt begin. After all, you like hot chicks, right? So why wouldn't hot chicks like hot chicks? It just makes good sense.

Afterwards, You're Allowed to Hold Money Out and Then Drive Away

There's nothing funnier than showing some dumb bitch who's boss. You are truly a real man. That woman's low self-esteem and willingness to fuck you have rightly earned her public humiliation and financial destitution. Can someone say hot? Go, you!

She Has No Gag Reflex, and She Likes it Rough

Your date's day job at the zucchini-swallowing factory has allowed her to develop some remarkable sexual traits. You guessed it: she likes being forcibly held still during sex. That gagging noise is her way of saying “you are the finest lover I have ever known.” If only her lecturer friend Casey weren't at that national banana-squatting convocation all week.

No Matter What Kind of weird Shit You're Into, Chances are Good She's Into it Too

Some do diapers, some do animal costumes, some do feet, some do chocolate sauce. You do all of the above. No need to be embarrassed, son; unless you've hooked up with a total prude, your odds are damn good of getting all you want and more out of your date. In fact, according to a national survey of characters appearing in Internet pornography, there's a ten percent chance that if you check the trunk of her car you'll find one or more of the following items: butt plugs, a big black dildo, the collected pubic hair of three years of waxing, lead body paint, stranglin' belts, jumper cables.

If Needed, a Condom Will Simply Appear on Your Penis During a Cross-Fade

Forget to pick up some rubbers for the date? Chill out, bro; the editor's got your back. Just keep prodding her upturned bottom with your man-stick, eventually the condom will appear. If not, take it as a good sign that she's either barren or you've had a vasectomy during one of the numerous star wipes.

When Cumming on a Woman's Face, it is Considered Gentlemanly to Avoid the Eyes Themselves

One of the few times a woman will openly show her distaste is during the money shot. Wincing is an ancient and respected method of accepting a man's seed into the natural receptacles (the mouth, nostrils, and cheek area). But aiming for the eyes is simply barbaric, a practice dating back to the 19th century, when it was largely believed that an unblinded woman witnessing a man's orgasm would be insatiably driven to devour the penis. This is most likely a scientific impossibility, as any woman's stomach would be far too small to accommodate the filet mignon-like flesh of your now enormous unit.

It Will Feel Awesome

Seriously, go for it. It won't end with you crying at all. On the contrary, you'll want to do it again right away, and have absolutely no urge to avoid your partner for the rest of Junior High.

February 9, 2007

February 2, 2007

In honor of my officially latching onto the rocket train of assured financial success that is the CRACKED internet comedy web-pire, I’ve decided to eschew all initial effort and dig through my archives instead, hoping to uncover any untapped entertainment.

Chances are, unless you're a member of my family or one of my many girlfriends, you are new to the site. Consider this a free sample of what The Specious has to offer. The analogy breaks down somewhat considering that all my content is free, but I never miss a chance to compare my work to little cups of glazed chicken that a Panda Express employee stuffs into your hand while shouting “Tastes good! You buy!” That’s basically what we do here.

At the risk of over-extending the metaphor, enjoy the following little paper cups of glazed chicken.